


With Bent Spirits and Bloodied Hands

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comment Fic, Community: comment_fic, Friendship, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Talking, twelve hours ago I was crowing about how I don't just write angst...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: The Lara-Gara reveal goes much worse. Wedge and Tycho try to pick up the pieces.





	With Bent Spirits and Bloodied Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a comment_fic prompt: any, any, forced to bring down one of their own.

Tycho is shaking where he sits in the chair before Wedge's desk, the scene from just an hour ago playing over and over in his mind.

Of course he's killed before. He's a soldier, has been for years. Spitting a TIE with his X-wing's lasers or targeting a capitol ship's weaknesses with his proton torpedoes is second nature.

But he's never had to watch those twin trails deliberately shoot from his ship into the engines of a friendly before.

“Tycho.”

He looks up at Wedge's voice. His friend and commander looks nearly as rough as Tycho feels, but at least he didn't have to kill any of his pilots today. If nothing else, Tycho can be grateful for sparing him that.

“You did what you had to today. You understand that.” It's not quite a question, but the thread of concern is there just the same.

Tycho nods. That doesn't make it any easier, doesn't make the weight on his heart any less heavy, the blood on his hands any less potent.

Wedge sighs, dropping the stylus he holds to the desk and pressing his fingers over his eyes, leaning hard on his elbows. “ _Kriff_ ,” he breathes. “This never should have happened. Not any of it.”

“You had no way of knowing Notsil's past.”

“But I knew Donos was less than stable. He'd been triggered before, when his droid was destroyed. There was always the chance it would happen again and worse. I just never thought it would be like this.”

Tycho squeezes his eyes closed, the scene playing across his lids again like a perfect-quality holorecording. Captain Loran's slip, announcing Notsil's identity as Gara Petothel across the open comm channel. Donos kicking his X-wing out of formation despite Wedge's warnings and firing on Loran as he tried to defend Notsil. Donos refusing to detonate the torps before impact, Loran managing to eject but not in time. Tycho, sights already on Donos, taking the shot before he could follow up by destroying Notsil as well, her disappearance into hyperspace a flash in the corner of Tycho's eye to match the fiery destruction of Donos and his ship.

Tycho starts at a touch to his hand, jerks his head up to see Wedge standing in front of him, that same look of concern in his brown eyes. He's probably using this opportunity to shy away from his own feelings, but Tycho can hardly blame him. He's used the same tactic before himself, and it's not like he's going to refuse comfort right now.

“Do I need to make you an appointment with a counselor?” Wedge asks.

“No,” Tycho answers immediately, then tempers himself. “I'll be all right. I just need time. You know I can find someone to talk with when I need to.”

Wedge nods. “All right.”

“Do you need anything?”

Wedge chokes on something that in other circumstances might have been a laugh. “Besides a do-over on this whole project? I lost three pilots today. Two dead by friendly fire. One of those the only real commanding officer material among the squadron. The Wraiths are all but dead in space.”

Tycho swallows hard, tries not to fixate on the fact that one of those friendly kills was his. “You could never have seen this coming, Wedge. The Admiral can't blame you.”

Wedge shakes his head, turns and slumps back into his chair. “I should have vetted them better. Both Donos and Notsil. I was too trusting, too willing to give chances where perhaps they weren't deserved.”

“That was the point of this, wasn't it? The rest of the Wraiths...”

“Are fine for now,” Wedge counters, looking away. “Who knows when the next one might implode.”

“Wedge-”

“Forget it.” Wedge seems to catch himself, fixes Tycho with a look. “None of us is in a good frame of mind right now. We need to rest and regroup.” His expression softens. “That means you. Eat. Then get some sleep.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Wedge gives him a weak smile. “You are sure you're okay?”

Tycho hauls himself to his feet. “I will be.” He looks back at his friend, gaze holding a repeat of the question.

“I'll manage,” Wedge says evenly, though Tycho can see the exhaustion creeping across his features. “I've got a pile of reports to work on for this and the actual mission that can't be put off. Luckily, yours can wait until morning.”

Tycho isn't going to lie: he's grateful for that fact. He doesn't envy Wedge the work ahead of him.

“You know I'm here if you need anything,” Tycho tells him.

“I do. Thank you. Now go, take care of yourself. I mean it.”

Tycho does.


End file.
